


The Alien Invasion

by Kaguya_hime



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Established Relationship, Idiots in Love, M/M, Misunderstandings, Not Beta Read, Peter needs not just a hug but a psychotherapy, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-25
Updated: 2019-11-03
Packaged: 2020-05-19 09:56:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19354651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaguya_hime/pseuds/Kaguya_hime
Summary: Wade returns home from his mission, but it's not the man Peter knows.Now with the second chapter - tried to write porn, but they just mind fuck each other. Poor chaps. They definitely don't deserve such an evil fucked up author.





	1. An Alien

**Author's Note:**

> Not beta read (hello, volunteers?).  
> Lots of swearing. 
> 
> It's a little spin-off of a longer (bigger and uncut) fic I'm trying to write right now. Wanted at least something finished.

You hurt?

Never been better. 6pm.

Ok. Waiting.

 

It's 15 minutes past six.

Peter sits in the kitchen, scrolling and re-reading their messages for the past week.

There are two jugs of rehydrating fluid on the table, a bowl of veggies. Big chunks of tenderloin steaks are resting on the cutting board, waiting; Wade would want them extra rare if he took some serious damage. Which he probably did.

It was a very strange mission. They only texted each other the whole time, though usually Wade calls as often as possible, no matter in what part of the world he currently is, sometimes Peter talks him into sleep, or they chat about everything, Wade wandering the streets of some distant exotic places and spilling his immediate impressions. Peter enjoys sharing Wade's other life even like this, remotely, though he is still afraid of joining any of his missions and seeing Wade blood frenzy again. Of course, Wade is more controlled now, more his mocking and perceptive self during battles. He doesn't lose it anymore. And it was one particular time when Peter jerked himself off listening to Wade's lewd fantasies and obscene whispers and afterwards heard the screams and shots, realizing that the merc was fighting all along. Granted, it was fucked up as hell, but at least Wade was relatively lucid. After that episode, phone sex was a no go for Peter, however hard Wade was trying... And God, he missed Wade, the whole week was pretty uneventful and unbearably long. Peter squirms on the chair, feeling a bit guilty about his cleaned and even lubricated... god damn it, Wade might return in a few pieces, and all he can think of is... though that time, against the entrance door, was...

It's half past six.

The doorbell rings.

Wade!

 

Peter runs to the door and flings it open. It's indeed his beloved merc, Deadpool light mode, full suit, but only blades and Deagles, thankfully (one time they had sex while Wade had almost a few dozens of grenades hanging from him and looked like some freaking warfare tree bearing its dreadful fruits in rich nuclear autumn; Wade was grinning and joking about being ready to explode and Peter was whimpering in heat and terror, afraid to grab accidentally the wrong balls). Wade. That's Wade for you. While Peter is looking at him, wrapping his mind and senses around Wade's presence, bathing in it, Wade just stands there smiling broadly and... silently?

“What happened? A stray catwoman got your tongue? Come on in.”

“Nah, I've traded my voice for something much better...”

There is indeed some strange undertone to Wade's voice. Peter drags him inside and shuts the door.

“Wade, everything all right?” Peter puts his hands around Wade's neck in a hug, and starts pulling at the mask and then...

Peter ducks in a millisecond and when he stands straight again he is pressing Wade's shin knife to intruder's white bare throat. He tears off the mask with the other hand.

The man is same height with Wade and of the same muscled build – and that's what deceived Peter.

He shakes the intruder and presses the knife harder.

“Who the hell are you?”

The stranger grins broadly.

“A skrull, don't you know, one of the oldest and the mightiest alien race in this part of the universe, technologically superb, able to shapeshift. And of course we took a sudden interest in your otherwise useless forsaken planet because some super-rare shit can be found only here, mm, what that would be, vibranium, cryptonium, fast-food additive?.. He smiles. A secret alien invasion, like in those flop action movies! Relax and take it easy, boy. We'll raise its age rating up to NC-17 in no time, and not with blood…”

His hand moves to the knife, but Peter grabs him by the neck with his free hand, slamming against the wall and holds him so that the man has to stand on his tip-toes.

The stranger's smug upper-hand attitude partially vanished, he shifts uncomfortably. The blade presses further into the whitened skin, there is a slow blood drop sliding into the neck of Wade's costume. Peter is sure the costume was taken directly from Wade, there are his own inept stitches on the left shoulder, “Spidey, you'll make the perfect housewife!” – “Go to hell, you dick”.

“Where is Wade? What have you done to him?! Answer or i'll!..”

“Hey, sunshine, as much as I'm turned on by this power play, I insist on setting the safe word right now. One clumsy movement of the knife and you'll become a single person... and in truth, death is not that smoking hot and sexy, especially permanent one.”

“Raise your hands above your head.”

“Hey, you seriously...”

Peter squeezes the neck with more force.

“Hands!..”

The man complies without fighting back, wincing, but has enough insolence to hiss at Peter: “Ooh, yes, master!  Should I call you that? Shit, that painful, look, maybe we can choose another position for hot sex? Pretty please?”

Actually, he is doing a pretty good job, imitating Wade, like he was familiar with the merc before. Goddammit, is Wade held hostage?.. Drugged? In pain?

Peter lets go of the neck and quickly webs the hands to the wall, then slowly withdraws the knife, puts it on the key shelf and looks at the invader with hesitation.

He winks and whispers.

“A hint for noobs: now you can order me to spread my legs and do whatever you want. Just let's agree on a quickie, the ribs are killing me.”

Peter webs his legs, too.

“I am asking you one last time – what have you done to Wade?”

“I did nothing. I mean I obviously did... he did... I... fuck, it was a totally wrong idea. He furrows his brows. Are you pretending or what?”

Peter starts to simmer.

“You want me to hit you in the face? Or kick you in the balls? To show that I’m serious?”

“Honestly? I wanted you to suck me off, but...”

Peter punches the man in the jaw, the blow is not very hard, but still of considerable strengths. The invader is hurt and he looks hurt, too, and angry.

“The fuck, Peter!.. I told ya I lost the healing factor. I'm ok with some rough treatment, but broken teeth will be too much, don't you think? And the ribs hurt as hell.”

Peter suddenly thinks that maybe there are other angles to the situation. He scrutinizes the man before him, taking in all slightest details.

Skin, a voice in his head cites, is the largest human organ. In total it accounts for 16 percent of person's body weight. Does it mean that beneath this smooth surface is 84 percent of his familiar Wade, and not an alien monster with two hearts or three-chambered stomach? He is not sure at all.

“Petey, you what, seriously believe I’m a skrull? And you were pissed off with your dumb headed classmates who thought Spiderman might be an alien!.. Now, who is dumb. Hello, it's me, Wade. Come on, sniff me, taste me, look me in the eyes, they probably didn't change much. Ask me about something. And god damn it, free my hands, I’m not putting up with all this pain if we are not fucking.”

Peter silently brings the dissolvent and frees the man, eyeing him warily. The man grunts unhappily, downing his hands.

“Leave your weapons here, please.”

“For fuck's sake, Peter, I can leave the whole suit here.”

And the man undresses, revealing more unmarred white skin. The only defect is a yellow-purplish bruise on his chest.

“What happened?”

“Well, on the first day, at the spot we were breaking in, the things went slightly awry, we had to fight back, so when I saw this fridge box... you see, I hadn't noticed it at the first glance and kinda went rough on those guys and while grumpy dog and shiny ass was trying, I dunno, to do the first aid on the boss' slashed throat, cursing me... cuz smartass smurf told us we might discover a clan lab or similar, and he needed the information or someone alive to question them... and, well, while they were busy, I shot myself with a serum sample.”

The man stands in the middle of their living room stark naked. “Like the sight?”

“Put some pants on. And... weren't you also wearing a pair of boxers when you left home?”

“Oh, shit, probably. The underwear gnomes got them. And where are my pants?”

“Where you left them.”

The man walks to the bathroom, eats a handful of painkillers and drinks the water from the tap. He pauses while returning the pill bottle on the shelf, looks at his reflection winks at himself and grins. Then splashes cold water on his cheek and on the still bleeding scratch; taps it with a paper tissue.

“And?”

“And then those fuckers cracked my ribs trying to reanimate me, and guess what, shiny ass actually did a… oh never mind. Then they took me to the X-mansion, the x-jet, and a wheeled stretcher, a bag of morphine, all that cool shit, like in a movie!  Bones administered additional beauty shots, we regrew some facial hair as well, and after a day or so I was as good as new. And Bones found out a few really insightful things, y'know I probably deserve a medal or something, for my efforts in the name of science.”

Peter follows the man to their bedroom where he finally founds polka dots boxers.

“That's when you messaged me? From the mansion?”

“Well, yeah. First thing when I came to my senses.”

“Because it is easier to lie this way?”

“I was getting better. And when it finally worked out the right way, I wanted it to be a surprise...”

“You’ve almost got yourself killed on a whim! Like – for real. It took you three fucking days to come to your fucking senses. And you still lack half of them, like the sense of responsibility. Or engagement,” Peter's distress and worry start turning into anger little by little. “I wonder why others didn't call me? Bet it was your idea to keep me in the dark all along? What happened to that “people have rights to the information” thing?”

“Aww... It was part of the deal. I join them – they never worry you. No matter how hard I piss them off, all that shit with collecting my ugly meat puzzle is their work. I walk home with my own legs after every X-Force mission I take. Grumpy dog was outraged, but I guess, he likes you enough to keep to it.”

“So I owe your stupid life to Wolverine, Colossus and Dr.McCoy?”

“Well, they were helpful this time. If you are gonna send flowers, add chocolates for shiny ass. He really tried his best.”

“You are a selfish jerk!”

“Yep”, the man looks at Peter with doubt. “Your eyes are not that full of passion, Spidey!” He stretches and plays his muscles. “Ain't it a sweet hot piece of sex?”

“Same old shit in a new package, I'd say.”

“Thanks for appreciating”, he puts on an orange parka, Peter's present, and a pair of pants. “Guess, we are not having a hot bareback session any soon.”

“We are having dinner.”

“As you say. What's on the menu?”

“Standard combo – steaks and rehydration fluid.”

“You were worried.”

The man leans in and cups Peter's cheeks and with gentle insistence makes Peter look at his face.

The sensation of cool smooth skin against his own is new and alien.

Peter's sight slightly doubles, it's like standing at the hospital bed trying to recognize a familiar form in a disaster of dissimilating flesh, bloodied, bruised, bloated; not quite believing that this ugly pulpy reality will now take over your memories and previous experience. Only in his case it is the average nice-looking flesh, normal and dreadful, that denies his rights to Wade, to his Wade, he met and fell in love with... well, Wade never was his alone in the first place, but this handsome body, horrendous, raised from the dead, just blatantly reminds of the past, where Peter had never existed, or the future where he won't have place, too. The present is poisoned with corpse fluids, leaking from under this perfect surface...

Peter slips away from the touch and looks at the man defiantly, his chin raised up.

“Of course I was. I am, every time. You are too fucking inventive, even for your superb healing factor. You've just proved it. I can't believe you shot yourself with some unknown stuff, created by the same people, that almost killed you last time!”

“Well, it wasn’t their medical shots, it was aftercare gunshots and explosion, that almost ended me off that time. But now it was as controlled and precise as a boob job.”

“So controlled that your heart stopped. You ever thought about consequences? About me?..”

“I... I dunno what happened to me, Petey. I just looked at those shiny glass tubes, the room and all the havoc and my masked face reflecting in them... And they stood there row after row, like tiny universes, eggs, or seeds, or whatever, creating chances, hiding things, and tinkled "drink me", "drink me" in those singing ringing voices… I just got lost like a fucking Alice. It was just...” He shakes his head. “It was plain stupid. Sorry. Let's cook the dinner.”

 

Peter follows the man to the kitchen, glad that there is no need to turn his back on him, no need to face him; Wade is usually the one preferring to do the cooking.

His movements are soothingly assured; as always, he forgets to turn on the range hood and soon the kitchen and they both are floating in the dense smell of burning meat. It's just meat, Peter thinks, reaching to press the on button, flesh, a minor thing to adjust to. Something from the surface. There are some deeper colder currents, of course, but he knew about them from the very beginning, or at least had his suspicions and mustered the courage to put the thought aside and jump in.

“We don't have beer, do we?”

“We've got that old whiskey, remember?”

“It will do.”

Peter brings the bottle and ice and fills two glasses.

Peter chews his juicy steak and downs the whiskey in big quick gulps, trying to avoid tasting it. Contrary to his beliefs, the flesh is perfect and the spirit is vile.  But it burns the stomach all right, so Peter refills and drinks some more, waiting for dizzy easiness to hit him in the head.

Instead of elation, there is that heavy stone-like sensation in the pit of his stomach. Maybe it's his nervousness or high metabolism; Peter grazes the celery stalk and it tastes like misery. He reaches for the bottle again.

“Slow down, kitten,” he snaps away the whiskey and puts it aside. “What am I now, a three-glass laid? A whole bottle? Would never thought that you, of all people, is such a lookist.”

Oh, it’s Wade turn to be pissed off now. Peter doesn’t bother to answer.

 

They move to the sofa in front of their huge TV.

“For how long is this?”

“A month, maybe longer. McCoy will take care after”.

“And if?..”

Wade shrugs nonchalantly. It doesn’t really matter to him. It’s not him having nightmares every few weeks or so.

“It won’t be like the last time. Anyway I can always wear the bloodlust down, take another mission. A nasty one. With Logan. You trust him, right?”

It's Discovery channel, blue whales swim slowly and freely in the deep cold waters.

“Talk to me,” Peter asks.

And Wade all of a sudden talks about his trip to Antarctica, to some fancy enemy base or whatever, god, how long ago was this, ten years before Peter, or fifteen?

The most distressful thing is not that Wade sometimes may act on a whim without even considering Peter, well, the man is self-concentrated at least, it's about time for Peter to get used to it, but the sheer volume of the underwater part.

Wade talks about the cold, and the crackling sound of melting icebergs, and still mirror waters of innumerable straits and channels; about the blue compressed ice thousand years old (and Peter thinks that Wade's eyes are of this color); and how he once saw humpback whales – as clearly as I’m seeing you, kitten, their strange moans of speech, songs of calmness and solitude, raising over the sea surface quietly.

That's it. Peter thinks. That's what we have: intertwined warm and cold currents and more things hidden in the depth than visible on the surface, millennia of ice age – before and after.

Peter presses closer to Wade. He is not the usual burning furnace now without the healing factor; even his heartbeat seems to be slowing down; he smells of clean clothes and unfamiliar soap and melting ice.

All other things aside, isn't it a small wonder they are together, was able to find each other and stay close?

Wade presses his new face to the nape of Peter's neck and breathes in the domestic warmth.

 

Maybe they’ll meet the morning together drifting on the ice sheet of their double-bed, some more of their alienation melted during the night.


	2. The Other Life

Peter wakes up from being cold, with a shit taste in his mouth, a familiar morning wood in his pants and an unfamiliar smooth naked body all wrapped around him. His first natural urge is to jump on the ceiling, but then the recollection of yesterday events hits him in a split of a second. He quietly rolls over, trying not to disturb his goddamn skrull. Wade. Wade freaking Wilson, who sighs in his sleep, but doesn't wake up, lying there calmly, unlike usual, a bruise on his jaw, brows slightly furrowed, face innocent and tired and somehow sad – like that of a sullen child.

Wade's hair is short, giving him an open and vulnerable look, brows are thick, but there are still no eyelashes – put a needle through my eye, Wade obviously was not very willing to apply the beauty shots everywhere, he lacks body hair, too. The pale silky skin is either concealing an alien biology – unlikely, or old deadly cancer – more likely, or Wade's usual scarred and broken self – a hundred percent true...

The man is handsome, Peter decides. Worse than the real Wade, of course, because – because Peter is just stubborn as hell – that's why.

Hairless soft cheeks make him look younger than his physical – how old was Wade when diagnosed? twenty six?.. Peter was just an itch in his dad's balls then. And a year later, in August, they both were born – mad and desperate Deadpool, finally getting his glorious million-to-one chance to survive the cancer, and, if Mary's SHIELD dossier was a reliable source, crying wrinkled Peter Parker, Lenox Hill Hospital, No2480, 20 inches (half of the length of Bea/Arthur) and 7,5 lbs (a Deagle plus Wade's favorite Glock), getting 9 out of 10 Apgar score. They lived happily ever after and then accidentally met each other. And the skin was okay, honestly, never an issue for Peter. It was Wade's past, distorted and ugly and incurable, that was hard to handle even for Wade himself, and sometimes it just crushed Peter with all the mercilessness of a hired killer. Not only Peter is jealous and suspicious of the time he was not around, but also devastated by being able to see only the tip of the fucking iceberg. And it's so stupid. Stupid!

And right now that past is laying here in front of him, breathing peacefully. Peter studies the geography of an unfamiliar body with a shameless curiosity of an outlander, appraising it like a tourist: the waste prairies of the broad back, golden in the morning sunlight, sparse brown and red dots of birthmarks as lonely as rural houses in the fields, bluish lazy rivers of veins, gentle grasslands hills of buttocks, a darkened inviting ravine in-between – a warm and habitable landscape of an ordinary human flesh.

God, Wade just wanted to be normal, to feel normal, and Peter freaked out like – like an anxious traumatized kid he is – and on top of that got drunk and blacked out during the yesterday evening: they snuggled on the coach – he drank some whiskey – Wade showed him the tickets – they drank more – they were talking – Peter woke up in their bed, completely undressed, from being cold, with a shit taste in his mouth...

Well, he owes Wade at least a blowjob. But first things first. He covers Wade up with a blanket, grabs the neatly folded pile of his clothes – Wade's own are carelessly thrown on the floor – and heads downstairs.

 

In their living room Peter picks up the empty bottle from under the couch and shuffles the papers on the small wheeled table. Their vacation in Europe. Flights to Prague, Paris, Rome... Some booked a month ago, some yesterday morning. Three tickets to Rammstein concert in Peter's name, paid for in spring during their kind of pause – their break, to be frank, they both were unsure then how to proceed. Three tickets – for him, MJ and Ned?.. Was Wade giving up on Peter or setting him free?.. Both possibilities are disturbing, and Peter swears to never let him go, and he is definitely able to stick to things. He is not over clingy, Wade told him so. Wade told him many things, though…

Peter goes to the kitchen and throws the bottle in the garbage can; drinks a whole jug of rehydrating fluid with big greedy gulps.

In the bathroom he hesitates whether he wants a hot shower with a jerk off or a refreshing cool one, maybe with a jerk off anyway.

 

“And one day, kiddo, you'll leave me for the better future.”

They are laying side by side in Wade’s huge bed, breath finally calm and even, Peter's come-splashed belly is already licked clean by Wade and the copious amount of lube between his thighs he will maybe wash away later, his head is resting on Wade's arm. He is all loose and relaxed after sex and that kind of pillow-talk is not exactly what he wants now.

“I won't.”

“You will. It would be sad and stupid if you don't even try.”

“What will you do then?”

Wade looms over him with a crazy smile and a wicked glitter in his eyes.

“Dunno. Maybe I'll cut your limbs off and lock you up in the basement. To keep you just for myself.”

Peters is suddenly pressed tightly to the bed by two hundred pounds of muscles and scars, and if Wade stops holding some of the weight on his hands, Peter will totally be squashed like a spider under a boot.

“No... You won't... Wade...”

Peter manages to raise his hands, but instead of pushing Wade away he just fights the stupid urge to put them around the broad back and pull Wade even closer; finally, he simply places his palms on the collarbones, waiting.

“Oh, I totally will!”

Wade's face is so close and the expression is intense. Peter wants his palms on the back of Wade’s head and his mouth on… he is breathless.

“You... will?”

Peter is achingly hard, but there is no space even for the slightest wriggling, so he lies there, unmoving, feeling the weight and the pressure, desperately wanting to be crushed. But instead Wade throws himself back on his side of the bed, all touch gone, and chuckles.

“Sure thing, kiddo, don't fuck with Deadpool. Have you seen those sorry motherfuckers, all maimed and disabled, in our basement?.. Take Weasel, he betrayed me at least twice, and tried to kill a few times, even succeeded once on my bad day. After the third order though he took me in as a partner, made a hit on me for some Naples gangster, we shared the money, but the business didn't thrive... or take Al with her mean little games... Or Forrest Bob, well, Bob has actually never wronged me yet, if you don't count this time in Berlin... but on the other hand I kinda revenged it, twice... and his bitch divorced him because of me, not in that sense, but still…”

“Wade”, Peter slides his hand caressing the relaxed abs, going lower where Wade's groin is even softer and resolves his wanderings stroking the totally flaccid dick. Ah... It comes as a disappointment, sort of, but on the other hand wouldn’t it be worse if Wade were getting off on those gory fantasies. As for his own towering problem – Peter doesn’t want to overthink it, not today; he simply wants to solve it.

“Will you...”

“Sure, I told ya that's how it works with me!.. chop you up and lock you down... why, Petey, sometimes you totally buy the utmost bullshit...”

“No, I mean... Will-you-suck-me-off-please?..”

“Oh, I beg your?..” Wade's rough hand immediately cups Peter's cock, strokes the whole lengths, tickles the tightened balls. “Huh! Resilient, aren’t you? What I love the most about you, kiddo, is how you always rise after falling… and quickly, too. May be it's just the age thing, bouncing back...” Wade positions himself between Peter's spread legs and licks the balls in a slurpy wide move of the scarred tongue, and Peter feels every lump and hole on the hot skin. Losing his breath, but not his mind yet, Peter crawls into half-sitting position, leaning on the pillows, to get the perfect view of the strong jaw and grinning lips, and all that will soon happen between them, and maybe Wade is not aware that Peter can see in that blind darkness, because there is also some subtlety in his features, almost tenderness.

“I wished, though, you could stay that way forever.” Wade whispers, more to himself. “And you, too, baby boy.” He breathes out to the tip of the leaking cock, and Peter is not sure what to make out of it, but when the damaged and bumpy and still oh-so-soft mouth with a firm resolution closes around his hardness he shivers and stops caring anymore, stifling a soundless cry.

 

Mouth opened in a silent cry, Peter feels every twitch of his cock in his palm, and every drop of water on his skin and finally is able to inhale some humid air... Okay, so, obligatory jerk off, checked. Then he just stays there for good half an hour, tepid water washing away his things – some guilt and anxiety, some other… stuff, that has no right to show over the surface.

They've never talked about it. Not really. Peter guesses, don't ask don't tell being Wade's usual way to deal with it since military times. As for himself – well, though he knows how devastating the silence and concealment might be, he is quite content with what he already got – a touch and smell, incessant chatting and all-consuming presence in which he can wrap himself – like he wraps in Wade's old hoodies during merc's long missions. Wade's eagerness to be there for him... And yet... No, he can't really ask for any guarantee – because there are none.

 

When he is finished, he wraps himself in a big towel, and goes out to find that Wade is already in the kitchen, his back turned to Peter, pancakes piling on the plate on his right. “Bonjour, ma Belle! Ton prince charmant fera cuire te...” And... and Peter can swear he wears same grey-black-green military outfit as – they jokingly started counting all their meetings as dates and Wade states that they have over two hundred, but Peter knows for sure it's around one hundred sixty – as on their very first date. The day one, the ground zero of Petey and Wadey adventurous mishaps, when Wade on a whim saved Peter by unaliving a whole bunch of people, the beginning of Parker's spectacular downfall for a mercenary...

Wade turns around and his melodic clear voice becomes more familiar – a bit hoarse, as if he has cancer on his vocal chords again. And he probably has one, too, Peter suddenly realises, one more thing to worry about.

“Petey...” his new face is not hidden and he smiles, though without the real joy. “Do you want me to fuck you like the first time or forgot to take your shit downstairs? Go get dressed for breakfast, a tie is not mandatory...”

Peter steps closer.

“You-want-a-blowjob?”

Wade smirks.

“I plead the fifth. You dressing up like this and making offers one can't refuse. Got me once.” Wade winks and turns back to his pancakes, slowly flipping them over. “Now, though, you are proposing it just like a cup a coffee. Which I do want, coffee. BJs can wait for later. You know, for when you can't stop yourself from doing it, and are lost, and moaning, and wanting my slick dick all the way up your needy asshole or... damn, I – need a blowjob right now. So, what about coffee?”

“Will instant do?”

Wade sets aside the frying pan.

“I have an eternity ahead of me, and you are saving some meagre minutes? Want a cup, too?”

Wade pours water in the blackish chezve and puts it on the stove.

“I've... I forgot about the coffee machine. I'll fix it in the evening, I promise.”

“Ah, as I told, I'm not in a hurry. What they say about shoemaker's kids running around barefoot...” Wade adds ground coffee and turns to hug Peter... “Living together with the most precious engineering genius I'm okay with some minor inconveniences.”

“I'm not a genius.” Peter buries his nose in Wade's broad chest, my mistress' breath reeks of – well, pancakes and gun oil this time. It's always something extremely attractive and sweet and natural mixed with something unknown and scary, that sends shivers down the spine.

“You will be in a few years... well, more like decades, actually, but nevertheless, hear the voice of the bard. Petey, you are capable of working your ass off, and it's 99 percent of what makes a genius.”

“I spent most of the week in the lab...”

“You see? Genius.”

“Cuz I have nothing better to do. I've missed you, Wade. Terribly.” Peter leans closer into the warming embrace, not trying to fight the physical attraction anymore, he wasn't really able to from the very beginning, it’s chemistry, kinda - and how one can go against chemistry rules, really?..

“Missed you, too, sugar pie. I wished I could've dragged you into that shit with me, but...”

“May?” Sometimes Peter himself just helps Wade to lie to him.

“Yeah, don't want to look her in the eyes over your grave or something.”

It’s not just May. Peter is not that dumb, he notices Wade’s side glances during sudden shoot-outs, the way his merc always keeps close, focused not on killing but rather on saving.

“I'm a liability…” God, he is pathetic, he even asks for more lies, basically begging for it. Course, he gets it, a whole pile… Wade strokes the back of his neck, shoulders, and Peter doesn’t even object much this new silky smoothness of the other’s palms.

“No, Petey, you make me stronger. You are the reason I wanna return home in one piece... And I'm really sorry for upsetting you like this. It's never occurred to me that you are a man of habits, needing consistency. I mean I kinda knew it, considering how they tossed you around when you were a kid... but I never thought you'd want that ugly mug to be a constant thing in your life…”

Peter finally lifts his head to retort to the ugly mug part, and it is that expression on the smooth face – honest, worried, that reminds of the оld Wade. And stop that already, the only place where there are two of them is your fucked up mind, he scolds himself.

“I... I've overreacted, okay?” Peter reaches to cup Wade's renovated cheeks. “Your eyes are the same”.

Wade's low blow this time is to tickle Peter.

“Aw!.. O-ow!.. Stop it! Hey, the coffee!..”

Wade turns around just in time to get if off the fire.

“How did you know?”

“I've heard it. And the funny thing,” Peter hugs him again pressing his face into Wade's chest, “your heartbeat is slower but it's just the same sound I'm used to.”

“But we'll find a way to quicken it, sooner or later…” Wade muses, probingly.

“Sure,” Peter’s relieved to see Wade’s broad and candid grin – a reassurance that Wade is okay with however slowly Peter is processing the shit going in his head, still, no harm in asking. “You'll wait for me?”

“Of course! Go get dressed while the breakfast is still warm.”

Peter nods and, caught in a moment, rises on tiptoe and pulls Wade closer into a wary and fleeting first kiss, then leans away furrowing his brows.

“Just how many pancakes you’ve already eaten? Keep me some, I’ll make it quick!”

“All yours!”

Peter flies to the living room to put his clothes on. He smiles and touches his lips with the tips of his fingers. It wasn’t half bad, may be too silky and fine to his tastes, but one can always pretend a little… The ugly assumption that it would feel like the life after-Wade, without him, with someone else, is slowly fading. It's not other Wade, it’s more like – the other life with Wade. His Wade. “All mine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, guys. I kinda promised to finish some chapters of my bigger longer story, but, sorry not sorry, ended up writing this. 
> 
> I honestly had some PWP in mind, cuz that’s why I’m possibly writing this whole shit, right, to channel the libido into something more refine – but no, one can’t just simply write good old porn without getting all emotional and stuff. I am not even tagging it as sexual, because, imo, my miserable attempt just failed spectacularly. Tell me if you think this needs additional tagging.
> 
> I will keep trying, though. But can’t promise much – this Peter simply evades sex with this new Wade at any cost. Yeah, and I really enjoy the whole situation, some common tropes just irk me no end, “Wade becoming a beauty and Peter failing for him” is one of them, ha-ha, stick it up your ass.


End file.
